


A Bitter Reunion

by aryu



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, Post Trespasser, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Reunion Sex, Tevinter Imperium (Dragon Age), Trespasser Spoilers, Uncomfortable feelings talks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:35:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27722204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aryu/pseuds/aryu
Summary: Lavellan convinces Dorian to let him come to Tevinter, and they discuss why he left in such a rush.
Relationships: Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Lavellan/Dorian Pavus, Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus
Kudos: 41





	A Bitter Reunion

The Imperium was much like Dorian had described: hateful, narcissistic, and depressing. He’d been here for nearly a year since the Exalted Council had concluded, and finally, Lavellan had convinced him to allow him to come. With every letter he pleaded with his lover to let him visit, begged him every time they spoke through the sending crystal, but Dorian always refused. He cited safety as his concern, but was Lavellan really supposed to believe that? He’d fought off every monster he could name without losing his life. Would could Tevinter do to him which hadn’t been done already?

Besides, what else was he supposed to do? There was no sign of Solas, and it wasn’t as if he could fire his bow any longer. He was utterly useless now. Alone, without his clan, and wandering Thedas in hopes of finding work. 

It had been too long since they’d been together. Sarel yearned to see Dorian, to be near to him and feel the warmth of his body again. He missed him greatly, as upset as he was that the man had left. It had been less than a week before he’d vanished for the West, and Lavellan had been powerless to keep him. 

However, that was a subject to ponder later. He’d spent too many nights and days and weeks wondering why his lover had abandoned him when he’d been at his lowest, questioning whether or not he really even cared at all. Regardless, he was here now. If Dorian didn’t care for him any longer, he’d know before he left Tevinter’s border. 

The Imperial citizens seemed to recognize him, there probably weren’t many one armed Dalish wandering around, and Sarel kept his gaze straight ahead as he rode to the building Dorian had described in his letter. It was grand (and unbelievably ugly), massive, and crawling with elves. They seemed to outnumber humans here three to one, but none of them raised their eyes as they worked. How Sarel wished he could witness their uprising. 

He’d be meeting Magister Pavus any minute now. They’d arranged the time and place in writing long ago, confirmed it more than once during Lavellan’s journey. Dorian would come. He had to. 

The Inquisitor would be on his best behavior, of course. They were friends here and nothing more. It didn’t matter what rumors were spread about Dorian and his preferences if no one actually witnessed him with a man. Or with a knife ear, which was even worse. Politics had always irked Sarel, but they got under his skin even more when they wouldn’t allow him to embrace his lover until they were away from prying eyes. Even if he understood Dorian’s precarious position, he wasn’t pleased. 

Sarel slid down off his halla to stroke his fingers over her nose, shushing her as she whinnied. She was exhausted after traveling so far, and she seemed nervous to be getting so much attention. It wasn’t often an elf rode into Tevinter on a halla, after all. They were bound to attract a few looks.

“He’ll be here soon, I promise. He probably got held up somewhere,” Lavellan promised her, rubbing his thumb beneath the saddle as he looked around. Just because he wielded a dagger now didn’t mean he was any less observant, and his skin was crawling with the stares on him. They couldn’t be subtle? 

It wasn’t long before the sunlight glinted off the jewelry dripping from Dorian’s frame, a gold chain strung across his cheekbone from his nose and rings adorning nearly every finger. His robes hung off him like they were made to kiss his skin, and they probably had been. He carried himself proudly, shoulders squared and chin high, but Sarel could see grey in his hair and the exhaustion in his face he’d tried so hard to conceal. 

Maker, how he’d missed this man. 

“Inquisitor,” Dorian greeted smoothly, a smile on his lips as he sauntered over to them. Sarel’s halla fidgeted, nosing at Dorian as he extended a hand to her, and Sarel wanted more than anything to throw himself at his lover. “I hope your journey was pleasant.”

“Magister Pavus,” he answered in his best political tone, bowing his head in greeting. Two years, and yet he couldn’t kiss his vhenan. What a cruel world they lived in. “It was fine. Hotter than I prefer.” He was sweating in his leathers, and loose hair from his braid was sticking to the back of his neck. How Dorian could survive in those heavy robes, he’d never understand. 

“Well, I’m pleased you made it in one piece.” Dorian extended a hand to him, squeezing at his elbow briefly, and Sarel went stiff as he glanced around them. Every eye in the vicinity was on them. 

“Shall I lead you to my home? We have much to discuss, yes?” Without a glance towards anyone around them, Dorian turned on his heel to lead Sarel deeper into the city, arms folded behind his back. “I have stables for your mount in the back. She’ll receive the best care imaginable, I promise.”

It wasn’t a far walk, and Sarel watched with rapt attention as Dorian led them through the streets. His ears lay flat against his head, heart pounding so hard in his chest he was a little worried it might burst, and he cursed himself for being so blighted stressed about this. He hadn’t batted an eyelash striking down dragons or an archdemon. Why was facing his lover in his home city so unsettling?

“Here we are,” Dorian announced as they reached the massive estate. It towered over them, intimidating and spiky in that odd way everything in Tevinter seemed to be. It was different than Dorian had described to him, but perhaps Sarel had lost his memory of the words by now. It had been a long time ago that Dorian had told him of his home. 

An elf let them through the gates. He didn’t lift his eyes from their feet, and Lavellan swallowed his snide comment at it. Now wasn’t the time to fight about Dorian’s servants. They’d have enough to argue over later.

“Luicus, please take the Inquisitor’s halla to the stables. Make sure she’s given food and water.” The elf nodded, and Sarel handed him the reins as he reached for them. 

“Thank you, Luicus,” he murmured, but the elf wouldn’t look him in the eye either. Maker, he acted as much a slave as any of the other elves they’d seen coming in. Then again, he was the Inquisitor. He wasn’t just an elf anymore.

“Poor boy. His last master split his tongue. He prefers not to speak now.” Dorian explained, and Lavellan blinked as he watched the servant retreat with his mount. He knew so much about his help? Perhaps Sarel would need to...readjust his assumptions. Dorian was a kind man. Surely the Imperium couldn’t have tainted him so much already. 

“Ah. That is...unfortunate,” was all Sarel managed as he followed his lover through the huge front doors. Skyhold didn’t hold a candle to the greatness of Tevinter architecture. Lavellan felt very, very out of his league. 

The doors shut behind them, and Dorian swept through the hall upstairs. There were elves wandering all over the place, all of them meek but healthy looking. Dorian greeted nearly every one of them by name, and the Inquisitor nodded a stiff hello as they passed. It was a wonder that every Magister in the Imperium hadn’t set this place ablaze with the way Dorian was _respecting_ elves. 

“ _Amatus_ ,” his lover breathed as Sarel shut the door to his study, where they were finally safe from prying eyes. He stepped into Lavellan’s space, one palm moving to cup his cheek as the other folded around his waist, and Dorian bent to kiss him with all the longing of two unending years. 

“I missed you,” Sarel breathed between their lips, reaching up to lock gloved fingers into the hair that Dorian had grown out. He was so warm, so solid, so _real_ beneath his palm, and Maker his _voice_ , foggy through the sending crystal and far away in his penned words, was so close. Sarel could feel the rise and fall of Dorian’s chest, see the slight flush in his cheeks. “ _Vhenan_ , I don’t know how I lived without you.”

The noise Dorian made as he kissed Lavellan again was nearly animalistic, and he rocked up onto his toes to kiss back harder as the arm around his waist tightened. The leather of his jacket creaked, Dorian’s necklaces jingled, and the rest of the world felt like it faded away behind them. 

“I’ve missed your touch more than I could ever describe,” Dorian breathed, nearly panting as he backed his lover towards his desk. Without a care in the world, he shoved the books laid open there onto the floor, hoisting the elf up onto it by his thighs. Sarel made a startled noise, but he went willingly, legs wrapping around his _vhenan_ to lock him against his frame. 

“As have I,” Sarel whispered, hand pushing beneath the numerous layers of Dorian’s robes to get at the heat of his skin. Blighted Vints and their overcomplicated clothing; it was far too much of a challenge to find his way inside without the practice Skyhold had granted them. 

Dorian’s chuckle was breathy against Sarel’s skin as he bent to kiss over his throat, easing the jacket he wore down his arms before throwing it over a chair in the corner. “My love, will you ever be able to undress me as I do you?” he asked, and Lavellan huffed as he kicked his boots aside. 

“Maybe if you stop wearing so many layers. Who needs buckles in a robe?” Especially with one hand, he was struggling, and Dorian squeezed the meat of his thighs before he guided his legs from around him. He stepped away to bring his hands to his own collar, letting his robes slip down over his elbows like water kissing his skin. 

Sarel couldn’t bring himself to look away. Dorian had so many new scars, though most of them looked healed and well cared for. He could match a few of them to their last battle together, but he wondered about the stories of the others. How many people had hurt him since he’d arrived here? How many assassination attempts had he outwitted? How many times had he been near death, alone in his home country?

Lavellan swallowed hard, and he dropped his gaze as he worked on getting his vest off. They were questions he could ask later, once they’d mended everything that had transpired between them. 

“Can’t keep your eyes off me for long, love?” Dorian asked, amusement in his voice as he folded his clothes, setting them aside with enough care to compensate for them both. Lavellan tossed his own aside, more nimble with one set of fingers than Dorian had imagined he could be. Then again, he’d had two years of practice. 

“Shut it or I’ll steal that tongue of yours,” the elf snapped, laying back against Dorian’s desk as he pried open the laces of his breeches. They stuck to his legs with sweat, but he squirmed his way out of them as Dorian watched, fingers dancing over the skin of his knee. Maker, it had been too long, and even that light touch sent chills racing over his body as Sarel fought to maintain his composure. 

“My love, you’d miss my tongue far too much to remove it.” Dorian’s hum was too damn pleased, and he bent to scrape his teeth over the muscle on Sarel’s ribs before he danced away to open a desk drawer. 

Naked, Lavellan shut his eyes and exhaled. He should have known they wouldn’t exchange many words before they had to get out of their clothes. They’d always been fairly physical, and speaking through the crystal while they pleasured themselves was only so satisfying. Still, he had much on his mind, and he was struggling to push it away completely as Dorian popped the cork on the bottle of oil. 

“I’ve missed this.” His voice was low, breath on Lavellan’s sensitive ear as his lover stood between his thighs again. The elf could feel how hard he was against his skin, and it took all his power not to rut up against Dorian. This would be quick enough already. 

“I’m surprised you lived so long without it,” the Inquisitor breathed, and Dorian’s chuckle made him shudder. His fingers were slick when they touched him, and Lavellan made a soft noise as the first pressed inside him. “I half expected you to tell me you’d found some Magister you were converting to sleep with.”

If that bothered Dorian, he didn’t show it, and his lips curled against Lavellan’s _vallaslin_ as he pressed a second finger into him. “My heart belongs to you alone, _vhenan_. All I thought of was you.

Sarel groaned, turning his face into his shoulder as Dorian scissored his fingers. It had been nearly two years since he’d done this to himself, it was rather difficult to get himself off with one hand if that hand was behind him, and he wasn’t the type to pack toys with him in his bag. If he hadn’t been yearning for this so long, his body likely would have put up much greater a fight. 

It wasn’t long before Dorian was easing another finger into him, and Sarel’s jaw went slack as the tips of them brushed over his prostate. With a fire lit in his groin, he clawed his lover closer, fisting a hand around his cock with demands on his tongue. 

Dorian’s answering chuckle was breathless, and there was heat in his cheeks as he guided himself into the elf. Their groans matched one another, breathing harsh and eyes locked onto each other, and the mage wrapped one hand around Sarel’s cock to pump in time with his thrusts. 

It had been too long since they’d been one. Sarel couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt the warmth of another person close. Maker, but he barely remembered how it felt the last time he’d made love with Dorian. 

Neither one of them lasted long. Dorian came with a shout, pumping the elf full of his seed, and Sarel finished moments after across his chest. He slumped back against the wooden desk after, chest heaving, hair sticking to his face and feet slipping off the edge. The warmth of Dorian’s body left for only a moment before he returned with a cloth to wipe the elf down with, cleaning them both enough to redress. 

It was silent save for the rustle of fabric and of leather as they both made themselves presentable once again. It was sweltering in the study now, and Sarel pressed the window open once he’d gotten his pants and his shirt back on. Dorian looked as though it had never happened, robes perfectly folded across his chest, eyeliner firmly in place. Sarel probably looked wild beside him, barefoot and braid mussed. Humans were so odd with their vanity. 

“I do hope your journey wasn’t too long,” Dorian said finally, sinking down into his plush desk chair. The elf shrugged, and he pinned back his sleeve, settling down across from him with a stiffness in his back that hadn’t been there earlier. 

“A little lonely, but not bad. I could tell when I got close, though. I was a little worried some Magister was going to jump me in my sleep and try to enslave me.” His laugh was bitter, smile tight, and Dorian only sighed. When had things become so tense between them?

Well, it had probably started when he’d left. 

“I’m glad you made it alright, all the same.” Dorian bowed his head, seeming almost nervous if the stiffness of his shoulders was any indication. Guilty, perhaps. His journey had certainly been much easier. “Your uh- Your mount. I don’t mind her inside if you’d like her in later. She’s comfortable now, though, I’m sure. Luicus is excellent with animals.”

“She’s fine. She’ll probably be happier in the fresh air than in here,” Sarel dismissed, gaze wandering over the room. It was dark, cramped, and stuffed to the brim with literature. Lavellan could see the stress in the way Dorian’s things were laid out. 

“How have things been going? You seem...stressed.” 

Perhaps stressed was an understatement. Dorian sighed, raking his fingers through his hair, and Sarel watched as a strand caught in his ring before it pulled free. Was that another grey buried on his scalp? 

“It’s been challenging,” the mage started, and he rose from his chair to pick up the books he’d strewn over the floor in his haste to get undressed. Only a few of the pages had crumpled, but a little heat from his palms smoothed them out again. “Overthrowing the Magisterium has proved to be more difficult than I anticipated.”

He was lucky he hadn’t been killed already. He’d written of only one attempt on his life, but Sarel was certain there had been more. He knew how often people had set out to assassinate _him_ , and he could only begin to imagine how bad it was for Dorian. 

“Unsurprising,” Sarel murmured, thumbing through one of the books. It was all in Tevene, he couldn’t make out a word of it, but Dorian’s scrawl was familiar in margins, slanted with anxiety. “You’re alive, though. That’s a blessing.”

“As are you. That’s about all we need,” Dorian declared, fingertips passing over Sarel’s hand briefly to squeeze it before they danced away as he paced. “Have you hunted down our dear friend Solas yet?”

Sarel sighed, and he shut his eyes as he scrubbed the heel of his hand over them. His bag was filled to bursting with the notes Solas had left behind. He’d been pouring over every word, every letter of them since the Council, but he was no closer to finding him than he had been when Dorian had left. 

“You would have heard of it if I had. He’ll be found when he’s ready to be.” And when he was ready… Well, the Inquisiton’s soldiers lay in wait for that day. Not officially, of course, but Dorian had sent crystals across the whole of Thedas. Their troops could assemble wherever the need would arise. 

Silence blanketed them once more, and Dorian turned to gaze out the window. Times had been simpler then. It just hadn’t felt like it. 

“Would you like the official tour? My servants are dying to meet you, Inquisitor. They haven’t kept quiet about you for weeks.” That smile was painted on his lips again, arms folded behind his back, and Sarel rose to slip on his boots as Dorian wandered to the door. 

“I suppose. Do most of them know of the Inquisiton?” He’d be surprised if many of them could read, then again, Dorian had written to him of providing them ample coin, housing, and food. Perhaps he’d educated them as well. 

“They do, yes. You should have heard of the stir we caused. There wasn’t an elf in this entire country that hadn’t heard your name by the time I returned.” Dorian was proud, head high and delight twinkling in his eyes. Sarel wouldn’t be surprised if he was embellishing a little, but he wasn’t going to argue it. He hadn’t felt truly useful in a long time. 

“ _Fenedhis_ , I don’t need any more attention. I thought that was over.” Then again, he was bound to get stares as a Dalish in Tevinter. Unless he never went outside again, which he wasn’t sure he’d survive. 

Dorian just chuckled, and he pressed a hand into the small of the elf’s back to lead him out into the hall. The tour was appropriately grand, and Lavellan greeted each and every one of Dorian’s servants, who were varying levels of eager to meet him. He spoke to all who would talk with him, sticking close to his lover’s side, and when they’d finally finished their rounds, they settled down into a pair of the ornate chairs in the dining room. When was the last time Dorian had shared this space with someone? His mother never ate with him, and he couldn’t imagine Dorian inviting many people over to grace him with their company. He’d been on his own a long time. 

“May I ask you something?” Lavellan asked as he picked at his dinner, eyes glued to his plate. His stomach was in knots, and he was sweating in his leathers. Surely it was just the Tevinter heat. 

Dorian didn’t seem to sense the tension, nose buried in one of the million books strewn out over the tabletop. Not even a day in and he was already ignoring his lover for his work. He hummed a response, not looking up for a moment, and Sarel sighed. 

“Do you regret coming back to Tevinter?”

Dorian’s shoulders stiffened, and he shut his book slowly. It took a painful few moments before he lifted his chin to meet Lavellan’s gaze, and his face was a mask. 

“Why are you asking me that, _Amatus_?” he inquired, tone even and measured, brows pinched just slightly. Lavellan could swear he was bouncing his knee, but he couldn’t be sure without ducking beneath the table to look. 

Sarel sighed, raking his fingers through his knotted hair as his gaze wandered, before big eyes finally returned to rest on Dorian. “I wish you hadn’t come,” he said, voice filled with anxiety. “You left when I- I’ve never needed you more than after the Council, and you just...left. Like it was nothing.”

Maker, barely three days had passed before he’d set off to Tevinter. Sarel had practically begged to go with him, but Dorian had promised he could come later. Once the Inquisiton was properly sorted out. Then once Tevinter was safer. But not yet, it wasn’t safe yet. Two years, and he’d still been denying him entry until Sarel had nearly threatened to show up regardless. 

Curse him. Dorian had the audacity to shake his head, laying his palm flat on the tabletop with enough force to shake the fork on Lavellan’s plate. “You think it was easy for me to walk away?” he asked, venomous. “Leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve had to do.”

“You could have stayed,” Sarel snapped, throat tight as he stared his lover down. His heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in the ghost of his fingertips. “Dorian, you are all I have left. The Inquisiton is gone. My clan is dead. All our friends are gone on their own. Solas is… Creators, I can barely braid my damned hair anymore, and you _left me.”_

There were tears burning behind his eyes, and Sarel scrubbed the back of his hand over them. He’d gone over this conversation so many times in his head, rehearsed everything he’d wanted to say on his way here, but he was still too bloody emotional. 

“I lost _everything_. Creators, you didn’t- I don’t think you ever even spoke of my arm. You just packed your things and left me like nothing had changed.” His voice broke, and Sarel turned away as his shoulders shook. He wasn’t going to cry. He hadn’t cried about this in two years, not after the first week alone. 

Dorian was silent. He didn’t move a muscle, staring down at his lap with his brows knitted, hands folded together on his thighs. Sarel shook his head, looking him over as he waited for a response. Anything. Just a look would have been something, but Dorian was a statue. 

His chair scraped over the marble floor as he rose, and Sarel shoved it back in. If Dorian wasn’t going to speak to him, then he wasn’t going to just sit here and be upset. There were a million places for him to disappear to in the estate alone. Maybe he could tend to his halla. Anything would be better than this. 

“Sarel,” Dorian called, his own chair rocking on its legs as he rose, reaching for a limb that wasn’t there as he chased his lover. There was an urgency in his voice that Lavellan hadn’t heard in a long time, and it rooted him to the floor halfway out the door.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he started, pleading with his gaze as his palms settled against his waist, squeezing like that could keep the elf there. “There’s not a day that passes when I don’t wish I could have stayed. But understand why I left: My father was killed. I was making progress. I thought- You still had work to do, and I couldn’t- Maker, I couldn’t bear the thought of bringing you with me and having something happen to you. I thought you’d be safer in Skyhold, and you had your crystal. I never thought that- You're strong. I didn’t think you needed me.”

The light was catching on his eyes more than usual, and Sarel swallowed the lump in his throat as he stared up at his lover. Had he ever heard Dorian so desperate? He didn’t think he had, even when begging for release in their bed. 

“ _Amatus_ , I almost-“ His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and Lavellan blinked back tears as he watched it. “I thought I’d lost you when you came out of that mirror. I couldn’t let you come with me and have it be my own homeland that killed you.”

Seconds stretched into what felt like hours before Lavellan stepped closer. Bare feet silent on the floor and gaze lowered, he fit himself against Dorian’s chest, letting out a heavy breath as his strong arms wrapped around him. 

“I understand,” he murmured, voice hushed. “But I wish you would have let me come. I’d never needed you more than after the Council, and I don’t...know how to forgive you for that.”

It wasn’t what Dorian wanted to hear, but he hadn’t been pushed away, and that was a blessing in itself. Baby steps. He wasn’t used to navigating a relationship, and neither was Sarel. But they were together, alive for the time being, and that had to be enough. Everything else they could work through. It was worth that. 

“I’m sorry,” was what Dorian finally said, nose buried in burgundy hair and arms folded around the elf’s slender shoulders. “If I could go back and change it I would, but… Well, I don’t think we want a repeat of Alexius, now do we?”

That earned him a small smile, and Sarel pressed his face into Dorian’s chest, one buckle cool against his cheek and another poking at his jaw. Damn the mage and his overcomplicated outfits. 

“I suppose not. We have other matters to focus on.” He squeezed his arm around Dorian before he cleared his throat, stepping back out of his embrace. Things weren’t perfect, but they were alive. 

“ _Ar lath ma, vhenan_ ,” Sarel promised, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. 

“And you, _amatus_.”

  
  



End file.
